It was night once again. It was always night at Midgar, for day has long forsaken them- abandoned them to their fate in darkness. Even if the sun rose, no one noticed it- no one could see beyond the ever-present shroud of smog that surrounded the city like a suffocating blanket. No one even bothered trying to find something as illusional as the sun in a city like Midgar.
From his position on the top of Shinra Tower, Zack tilted his head up reverently towards the smog, his mako-enhanced sapphire sky trying to pierce the veil of smoke to reach the stars. If he concentrated, he could barely feel the toxic mix of particle-saturated air swirl around in his lungs, lodging in his air sacks and slowly suffocating him bit by bit.
He didn't mind all that much, actually.
It was here on the roof of the world that he sat motionless with one leg propped up casually, almost a different person from his usual boisterous self. It was a known fact that in Shinra, the higher one's rank and the more abundant one's clearance, the farther one could ascend on the tower. The elevator keys were an obvious symbol of that. Obediently, everyone from the lowest of grunts to the highest of Turks strived desperately to improve- to be promoted. They desired the power- the fame and temptation that would coil coyly around their shoulders. They wanted it all; they would do anything to reach the top- absolutely anything.
Zack pondered if they what were truly trying to reach was the stars- if they were there at all. Zack was not too sure, but his hazy memory recalled endless nights spent as a child gazing up at twinkling points of light that his mother had called stars. However, that was a different time and place.
Here, at the very tip of the tower, he could go no further. It was here that he liked to relax and take time to reflect upon his life- and the life of this twisted, monstrous world that he lived in. He didn't mind the pollution; he didn't mind the noise nor anything else. Everything was dying anyhow, and he was no exception. Here, he could be truly alone- no one else besides Sephiroth and Cissnei had the clearance to reach the tip of the tower, and both of them knew better than to look for him when he doesn't want to be found.
On his good days, Zack liked to think that they respected his privacy.
Even the most enthusiastic of people needed space, and now, space was all he had left. Gone was the happiness and optimism- gone like an ephemeral ghost- gone and never to return. Zack absentmindedly noted that he has been frequenting the tower more and more as of late- many times, he looked downwards and saw his Death, a kind death with the pale face of a green eyed, silver-haired, woman beckoning him with sweet promises and murmurs of peace- murmurs of a promised land, of a different planet and a different world. All he had to do was fall into her embrace. Time after time, he tore his eyes from the tempting shadows that surrounded his feet. He closed his ears against her sweet whispers, shoving them in the back of his mind. Zack let the dirty air flit through his ebony spikes of hair, noting that he would have to wash his hair later, if he cared enough to do so.
No, he would not give in; he would never give in. He repeated the mantra numbly.
"Aerith," he whispered as a follower would the Goddess. No, for Aerith, he would not give in. But even so, the excuse was wearing thin on his ears.
"Aerith," he said again emotionlessly, letting the word hang in the cool night air. "I wonder where you are right now," he mused quietly, his hand clenched on the fabric of his pants.
Six months- one hundred and eighty-three nights. Zack's eyes trailed downwards, tracing the path he would always take to her church, the only light to have ever reached his haunted eyes, the only place to have cleansed his blood soaked hands. He made no noise- he did not sigh, nor did he sob.
After all, he would be wasting his breath; the dead do not speak.
Six months- he never got the full details until the ninetieth night. He never understood why he couldn't find Aerith or why she would let her flowers waste away one by one. He tried his best to keep them alive, hauling buckets after buckets of water, day after day. Aerith would want to see her flowers healthy and well taken-care of when she comes back, he thought. He built her the cart he promised her; Aerith had said that she wanted to sell flowers and fill Midgar with happiness, even if it was a meagre joy.
For Aerith, he had thought.
It was on the ninetieth night that Tseng came, bringing his shadows with him. He remembered every word of the conversation; his mind played and replayed it constantly. It haunted his every step and his every breath.
"Zack," he said, his suit pressed as usual, his back straight. His voice had just a flitting hint of an unidentifiable emotion, "The church is set to be demolished in a week."
His smile faltered as his wrist jerked. He dropped the water he was carrying, ignoring the water that sloshed out of the bucket and soaked his boots. "What do you mean, Tseng?" He asked disbelievingly.
"Aerith... is not coming back," he replied as gently as possible.
He clenched his hands tightly, making his leather gloves nearly burst at the seams. "I don't know what you mean," he said, feigning ignorance. "Aerith... She wanted -wants- to see the sky. That's where she went," he insisted. Deep in his heart, there was an aspect of him- a traitorous one- that knew. A girl missing in the slums was as good as a dead one.
Tseng closed his eyes, whether in exasperation or in pity, Zack did not know. "Zack, Aerith is dead."
His fists lashed out before he could stop his body. Thankfully, Tseng was alert enough to catch the blow before it could do any real damage- to him or to the flowers. Even so, he gave an imperceivable wince as he took the brunt of Zack's Mako-enhanced blow.
"She is dead," Tseng repeated blandly. Zack suddenly hated the Turk's voice and the way emotions slid off of it like oil on water- or blood off his suit.
"How." Zack demanded harshly, his throat suddenly tight. His heartbeat drummed in his ears; he could feel blood rushing to his muscles, readying them for action once more. He demanded blood, and blood he would get.
"She killed herself," the Turk said. Zack froze, his rage turning into shards of ice.
"She would never- Aerith wouldn't do that," Zack snarled, his pupils unknowingly turning into slits. Tseng's iron grip held on, but the man did not speak. Instead, the Turk's gaze turned downwards, shadowed with weariness. "Why," he whispered, the single word filled with a thousand unsaid confessions. The first tear left his green- previously blue- eyes.
"Zack," he said hesitantly, as if he did not know whether or not he should speak. "The company... wanted to speak to her."
A part of him- the militant part- briefly wondered what the all-powerful Shinra Company could possibly want with a flower girl from the slums.
"Bullshit," Zack said with absolute certainty. "You're going to have to try harder than that, Tseng." They both knew that Aerith wouldn't have killed herself over something so trivial- nor would the Turks have let her kill herself for anything less.
Tseng silently adjusted his grip to one that would dislocate Zack's shoulder if he pulled hard enough. It was a threat- and a sign that he did not trust in Zack's mental stability at the moment. The Soldier didn't blame him; he would not trust in himself- or anyone else- either.
"That's not going to do anything to me," Zack said, unconcerned- he had sustained worse injuries and lived. "I thought you were supposed to watch over her. How could you have let this happen?" Zack could feel his emotions -his life- drain away from him, like mako from a reactor. His knees felt weak; he wanted to collapse into sleep and wake up in Aerith's warm embrace.
Tseng said nothing once again, letting the frigid silence speak for itself.
"Answer me, Tseng!" He demanded, hot tears spilling from wild eyes. "Please, I deserve to know. She would not have left without telling me anything- please."
"She left nothing for you," he affirmed, looking away.
Zack laughed- it sounded hollow even to his own ears. "If so, why won't you meet my eyes, Tseng? For a Turk, you really don't lie well."
The Turk leader met Zack's gaze and immediately regretted doing so. He was suddenly reminded of why Zackary Fair was inducted into Second Class immediately upon finishing the cadet program- and of why both Soldier and the Turks had fought bitterly over which department would get him.
"You are hiding something," Zack's gaze sharpened, much as Tseng's own eyes would do so at times.
"It is classified," Tseng cleared his throat.
"My clearance level is the same as Sephiroth's," Zack scoffed. "If you don't want to tell me, then don't," Zack said bitterly as he yanked his fist away, ignoring the sickening pop that resounded around the church walls. His right arm hung limply by his side, but he paid the appendage no mind.
Wearily, he turned his back and reached for the Buster Sword- Angeal's sword- which he had laid against the wall. He took all of two steps before his keen hearing caught the quiet click of Tseng's gun.
"Go on, shoot me. I don't mind," Zack turned around and smiled sadly at the barrel of the gun. "Aim well, Tseng."
Tseng's face twisted in pain. "Zack," he said, the unidentified emotion much more prominent in his voice. "Aerith- she had a final request for me."
Zack's visage turned stony; he was right all along- Tseng let Aerith kill herself- why?
"She wanted me to tell you the truth." Tseng said, acceptance in his voice.
The next ten minutes would be the longest ten minutes of Zack's life. When the last word dropped from Tseng's lips, Zack's world fell apart.
He reported to the company the next morning, scouring the entire building for the Wutaiin turk with questions on the tip of his tongue. He cradled a thick tear-stained letter to his chest- the last words Aerith had to give him. He held it as if it was his firstborn- one that he now knows he will never have, at least not anymore.
Never did he question the presence of the Turks around Aerith. To know that she was an Ancient- the last one- and that the company had wanted her back... He knew how cruel the Company could be- how inhumane their experiments were. He dreaded extermination missions from the very first day he became a Soldier; every time he went on one, he would lock his heart away and try to ignore how human the "monsters" looked. He would ignore their screeches of terror, the scratchy gasps for mercy. He would ignore the child-sized hands clawing at his feet; he would ignore and forget.
He never met their pain-filled eyes. He made that mistake once; that night, he looked into a mirror and saw the same pair of eyes staring back at him.
In that moment, he understood. He understood and wished that he did not.
"Cissnei, have you seen Tseng?" Zack tapped the redhead on the shoulder, a pathetically fragile smile plastered on his face.
Cissnei spun around, uncharacteristically silent. Her eyes were as dry as they were dead. Zack frowned for a moment, wondering what was wrong before his sight drifted to the breast pocket of her suit. It had a small inky black pin on it- one made of non-reflective metal.
One that signified her position as the head of the Turks.
The silence stretched uncomfortably; she did not need to explain herself- not that she needed to.
Zack's heart plunged- as did his smile- distantly, he thought he heard something breaking in his mind. "Congratulations, Head of Administrative Research," he said formally, as one would to a complete stranger.
Cissnei's face remained stony. Zack saw nothing in her eyes; eyes were the windows to the soul. The Soldier knew the moment his sky blue eyes met her cold brown ones that her soul was gone. Gone was the girl who wanted a name. Gone was the girl who wanted wings. Gone- all that was left was Cissnei the Turk Head- a mere husk of someone who used to be human.
That night, Zack went to the top of Shinra Tower for the first time. He looked for the stars, wondering if Tseng would be up there somewhere, watching over this wretched world.
On the one hundred-and-first night, Zack identified the emotion in Tseng's voice.
It was fear.
He had never seen Tseng again from that night on, nor did he expect to do so.
Life more or less returned to normal; the sun rose and fell, but no daylight reached the smoky depths of Midgar. Nothing has changed, yet everything disappeared. To put things simply, he didn't care anymore. He didn't care about how Sephiroth would frown at him- the closest expression to worry that the emotionally crippled war machine of a general could muster. He didn't care about how his eyes turned greener by the day. He didn't care about his cadets or about Reno, who had gone silent himself.
He didn't have the heart to care anymore. He wondered darkly if his heart was what broke on that fateful hundredth day.
Every night at exactly twenty-three hundred hours, he would ascend to the top of the tower, silent among the noise, alone among the crowd crawling beneath him.
Zack pulled out the wrinkled and now bloodstained creamy envelope of his love's last letter to him, as he did ritually at precisely midnight. He held it gently as if afraid that he could tear the last thoughts- the last remnants- of Aerith.
It was his Goddess' final mandate. It was Tseng's last and greatest gift to him. It was the truth.
Zack unfolded the letter carefully, his calloused finger treasuring the feel of the heavy paper, his nose inhaling the sweet scent of Aerith's flowery perfume- still strong after a hundred and eighty three nights- soon to be a hundred and eighty four. He touched every crease of the paper, every dent, every stain, and every corner of the letter. Finally, he opened his eyes, already knowing the content by heart.
Aerith had but one word for him:
Live.
Mandy: This plot bunny bit me while I was in the library getting ready to work. I wrote this short little ficlet in about an hour and a half; I'll go back and edit it later. I was listening to Dark Blue by Jack's Mannequin (hence the title) when I formed the scene of Zack sitting somewhere very high up looking at the sky. This kind of morphed towards something different towards the end, but I wanted to end it somehow.
I wanted to write a story that captures the reality of the FF7 universe as it should have been. A world like Midgar would have been dark, depressive, pollution, and merciless. I wanted to capture that feeling in this short piece of , I really should get to work.
Second edit: I'm actually kind of annoyed that I wasted so much time writing when I should have been working, but I guess at least now I'm more focused... Also, please excuse the summary; I really wasn't sure how to summarize this.
Third edit: Took out some extraneous words and fixed a typo or two.